The Clandestine Pearl
by Juki
Summary: How Inuyasha's father (Inutaishou) and his mother got together through Sesshoumaru's perspective. Explicit descriptions, you are warned. RR plz.


The Clandestine Pearl

Prologue – Grace

By: Juki

                                    _Every child, at one point, will ardently worship an idol. In their eyes, he can do no wrong, omnipotent and immortal...until he falls from grace. Then the vulgarity of his shame will beautifully shatter the bondage of denial and unravel the ugliness of disgrace. The truth will impale the child's withering heart as he slowly drowns in his sea of naivety and from his ashes emerges the disheartened fragment of betrayal. Physicality deteriorates; all that can remain from then on is hatred and disappointment._

            It will never cease to fascinate the shallow depth of her understanding. She marveled at how forbidden humanity banished years before can be so easily revived by the reminiscent dwelling of a past and the urges of a simple story. Even if this is the thousandth time this chronicle has graced her ears, it is recreated every time through the nimble abyss of her childish mind. The somber intensity of her gaze, infectious. Upon the innocence portrayed through her brittle frame, he closed his eyes...helplessly tracing the footsteps of his fallen idol...to embrace the tainted blood of mortals and savor their humanity.

                        _Integrals. The marriage of two opposing worlds, devastation, and from their union – wars were born. The first cry of their children resounded a hundred years, utter chaos, the hearts of men were flawlessly tainted by the venomous carnage of lust. Blood. Rivers of blood stretched on from distant deltas into one stream of vengeance, flowing and feeding the weaning children with its contaminated life. The frail division between the coexistence of mortals and demons lifted. A bridge was built in its place, a bridge constructed from the desire of power, a bridge that both men and demons built together._

_            There is no resting place in a world so subtly plunged into renegade. There is no identity in the vast stretch of barren land littered with faceless and decaying bodies. There is no refuge for the women whose children can no longer depend solely on their extended love. There is no order, only power. And the children, through their blameless endeavors of survival, learned to betray their own blood at birth and their own kin when they first begin to speak. There is no unity, only I, only power. This darkened world, was and is the first sight that I received when I was born_...

                                    Reverberations of the counterstrike pulsed through the streamline of blood throughout his arm, the feral unleash of raw mortal struggles, blurred the sense of identity into one simple word – belonging. Claim. The horizon washed over by a torrent of armors and blades, a horizon stretching from the north to the south, a horizon that man has made. Through the willowy gaps of time, through the enigmatic cleaver of his precision, his eyes beheld the covenant that will soon be immortalized through the inevitable stain of blood.

                        Mercifully spared from the blistering sun of the eighth moon of the year by the majestic shadow of his idol, he quietly observed the incomprehensible world through the perspective of his idol – his father. He adorned his father with infinite acclaim and with the milling grip of his father's callused hand, he is gloriously exalted to a stature that even surpassed his father's unequaled height. Barely snatched out of weaning, his hands trembled against the rocking beast buckling beneath his legs, but he fastened on against the reins, failure, he knew, is unacceptable.

            "Sire, they are in one league's distance." The gaiting trot of a tired mare, a silhouette mounted upon it and hidden from him by the blinding scatters of sunlight deflecting off of his breastplate, ensnarled his breath. One league. What is one league to his father? A step. A mere step, and a frugal one at that. He leaned forward as he clutched onto the stallion's neck and attempted to hide the ivory of his being into the enigmatic black of the horse.

                        The enticing song of metal against metal, clashes of the sword and its sheath, then the exquisite height – the extension of his father's reach is established. The graceful dip of the glorious katana, truly stooping to conquer, awakened the dormant force around them. Thunder, the impatient gaits of the horses, the shuffles of armor, the intangible mixture of anticipation and fear. No one here feared death, only failure, death can be glorious he was once told by his mother, and he believed her.

            His eager hands tugged at the reins while he arched forward. The unwavering stare of his ocher eyes against the stalemate of his father's hand, the sword positioned down onto the ground, its apex shamefully brought low...and it abruptly flung up. The earth moved with them, the deafening war cries...all melted into silence accompanied by the quickening thump of his heart. His left heel nudged against the mare's side as it whined and bolted forward like lightning.

                        "Chichiue!" The infantile screech of his tiny voice in midst of raging tempest and he bucked madly forward while attempting futilely to contain the spirit of the magnificent stallion. The familiar fire of his father's touch. The iron of his claws fastened around the mare's suddenly brittle neck as he clutched onto it and amused it by following its sluggish speed compared to his zephyr abilities. With a jump kick, Inutaishou mounted the horse while sheltering his son between the absolute safeties of his arms. He seized the reins and steered the excited horse towards their ultimate destiny – a kingdom.

            Bliss. The jagged razors of wind singeing the unruly mesh of silver that is his hair, along with fleets of arrows futilely falling short the glory of their sacred temples, defined ecstasy. Everything came whirling towards him like a sand storm, in the distance the stunned enemy by their impeccable speed and audacity to sprint one league to attack. "Don't let go!" Inutaishou instructed while the hardness of his breastplate pressed against the willowy softness of Sesshoumaru's back.

                        The glorious katana raised, then the collision of two worlds, a mesh of black and red flags. Total chaos, his heart throbbed with fear and shame as he shriveled beneath the security of his father's aura. Everywhere, inner wars, an anarchy of combat, disregarding all strategies and tactics...it is the intrinsic abilities of a man that mattered in the end...it is the primal will to survive that determines the victor in the end... He cringed as he watched through the gap of his father's arm and his own body at the wilting bodies, beneath his father's invincible hand, dotting the eternal plane of forsakenness with imprints of supremacy.

            Sublime. His fear slowly died along with the increasing numbers by his father's katana and he sat upright, shameless and for the briefest moment, embraced what the world so despised and distilled this, this slaughtering of mortals, into perfection. Cancer, the vast numbers their enemy began slowly diminished as they, literally, devoured the mortals with intensity and demonic blood. The flapping pride of the black flag swaying beautifully in the wind, splendidly proclaiming the West, signified the origin of all power.

                                    Asphyxiated by adrenaline, his small chest throbbed with fire while he trembled in the sudden stillness of their bodies. As if for the first time, his eyes received the vision of victory, and around him...devastated and severed mortals with their pitiful red flags carpeted the blood shod earth. The sedate gait of the fatigued mare also marked his tiredness, he had endured throughout the battle, through three days and two nights...he stayed wide awake and witnessed the pathetic stamina of mortals and how easily they disgraced themselves by surrendering.

                        "Chichiue..." He croaked, afraid that he was somehow buried and lost from his father's magnificent peripheral, and finally moved after three days and two nights of complete stationary on the horse. His toes tingled with a thousand small daggers piercing his soles while his buttocks eluded the sensory of his body. He craned his head and looked up to his father, at the man who can remain perfect in the midst of battle, the man who is unscarred, the man that is his idol. "Have we won?" He asked and despised the words the moment it escaped his mouth...how foolish and childish he sounded...and he had wanted to defy this by coming here in the first place.

            "No, no we haven't." Inutaishou stated flatly, untouched by fatigue, he coaxed his son absentmindedly. Astonished, he abandoned exhaustion, "But we defeated them!" He protested. "We overcame their shadow, Sesshoumaru. Victory is not ours until we capture their heart." Sesshoumaru frowned and asked, "Where is their heart?" Inutaishou exhaled in slight aggravation whilst he switched hands on the reins to allow his right arm some rest. "In Honshu, in the northeast."

                        He gripped the stale branch and mimicked his father as he unsheathed the twig from his side and hoisted it above his head. Then, through that strenuous stillness, dipped the branch down towards the ground. Suddenly, he flung the twig up and aligned it with his invisible and faceless enemies. Laughter emitted from around him...from the world he shunned out, which now slowly bled back into his reality and he soon found himself standing beside the blazing fire surrounded by the respective men who had assisted his father's forward step towards victory.

            "The likeness of that boy! Come here!" A brute and callused hand clasped over his head and gathered the bundle of clean silver tress and ivory skin against the stench of death of his shoulder. "So clean!" He laughed and played with Sesshoumaru's mocking armor, which most likely would not be able to withstand the weak jab of a sharp twig. "Ye first war, boy! Were ye afraid?" He puckered his lips sourly in an attempt to spurn the man, who in turn blurted out in further laughter. "I'm not afraid, fear is for cowards!" He blurted and detached himself from the man.

                        "Come here, here..." The man patted the earth beside him after recovering from his amusements. "Ye name be Sesshoumaru, correct?" He reluctantly joined the man and stood beside him. The flickering fire cast estranged shadows over the unsightly scars across his face while the remainder sources of his unattractiveness resulted from the merciless ravages of time. "Do ye recall the name of Inutaishou?" He tested the boy while he amused himself with the beautiful strands of silvers atop the boy's head. "Ryouchiiku." He hissed, somewhat offended that such a question is asked about his father, no...his idol.

            "Reverence to fear is the essence of power, b-...Sesshoumaru. Inutaishou understands fear and conquers it. By avoiding fear is only denying the true nature of every heart...but to understand it requires far more than power!" The man muttered, "And ye must stop weaning, the looks of ye are disgraceful!" He jested and tugged at the flimsy silk of his sleeves and the elaborate spread of glistening silver cranes on his hakama. "I am not weaning!" He protested, one to have only endured seven winters, though he tried hard to abandon his childishness, it has yet to abandon him.

                        "Stop ye whining...boy." He grinned and is quickly rebuked by others. "Stop toying with the boy, Hitokuchi!" His smug expression is unacceptable and Sesshoumaru quietly turned away and sat beside the fire hopefully to burn off all the hovering scent of that disgusting old man from his body. He silently poked at the fire with his make belief katana while conversations indulged on without him. "Indeed! The barricades stretched along Honshu are a formidable obstacle. Though they are mere mortals, the constant reinforcements of their men will tire us." Hitokuchi stated, though one to jest, he is among the few whom Inutaishou truly entrusted.

            "Ye speak of us like mere mortals..." Yamainu, the man who chided Hitokuchi previously, griped. "Though we are demons we are not immortals, we are prone to fatigue and injuries." Hitokuchi replied and began to remove his armor, his habitual trait when he feels comfortable. "It will require a level head to fabricate a sufficient tactic to penetrate the barricades and still accumulate enough strength to strike and seize the imperial palace after." He added. "I suspect Inutaishou will configure a momentary treaty, which I believe the fools will jump to accept after today's perilous destruction of their men...then the pleasant travel at our leisure to Honshu then succumb it from within."

                        Laughter resonated, and Hitokuchi simply brushed it off with a yawn. "Suppose Inutaishou did configure this treaty, will it not be conspicuous that his entire force is surrounding the palace?" Yamainu enquired whilst he hovered his hands before the fire to warm them. Despite the hot summer days, the nights were cool...even chilling. "We will travel by other means than foot, Yamainu!" Hitokuchi pressed hotly, irritated at the youth who constantly jabbed at his mindless musings.

            "Chichiue..." He approached his father with a chipped bowl filled with water and studied him who is beautifully framed by the iridescent shimmer of fire. The perfect arch of his aristocratic nose, clandestine Midas orbs with residues of obsidian to rebel against its hold, the flawless complexion he inherited from him and the intangible air of serenity. He extended his hands and offered the bowl. He lifted the bowl from his son's hands and sipped from it. The majestic dip of his head, the crown of splendid silvers...and he finally understood his mother's concern...truly...such a powerful and exquisite beast cannot be contained by a mere woman...

                        "How will you...capture the heart of Honshu?" He asked, curious, spiteful...he wanted to hear his father ridicule Hitokuchi and his cowardly suggestion. Paralyzed beneath the penetrating stare of his father's eyes, he began to tremor, the difficult gap between them...he never did understand how to approach him...to him, Inutaishou is not his father but his leader and his hero. "Ask Hitokuchi." Inutaishou muttered tiredly and dismissed his son with an absentminded wave of his hand. He flinched as a sickening swell of odium concocted within his gut. "Ask Hitokuchi..." He dictated hatefully and he watched as the beginning of his father's falling grace unraveled before him. 


End file.
